From the moment I was legally able to work, I’ve taken on the responsibility of supporting myself financially. Raised in a low-income, single-parent household, I learned early on that if I wanted a future that looked different from my present, I’d have to build it myself. I’ve juggled school with part-time jobs, staying up late to finish homework after long shifts, determined not to let my circumstances define my potential. I’m a first-generation college student, and with that comes both pride and pressure. No one in my family has walked this path before me. There are no roadmaps, no safety nets — just the hope that all my hard work will open doors to a life we’ve all dreamed of but never quite reached. College has always been my goal, not just for myself, but for the impact I can have on others. I want to be the person in my family who breaks generational cycles, who makes it possible for younger cousins and siblings to believe in more. This scholarship would not just ease the financial burden of tuition — it would be an investment in a student who is relentless about her goals. I’ve worked hard in school, maintained strong grades, and consistently pushed myself to go further, even when the odds were against me. I don’t just want to succeed — I want to give back. I plan to use my education to support underserved communities and help others navigate the same barriers I’ve faced. Being selected for The Art of Scholarships award would mean more than money — it would be a reminder that someone believes in me and my future. That belief is something I will carry with me through every class. Allowing me to overcome every obstacle, and make room for every success that lies ahead.

Essay: The Chapters That Made Me The first book that truly changed me was The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. I was just 13, and yet her words felt like they wrapped around my ribs and didn’t let go. It wasn’t just a story—it was a mirror. I saw how deeply society can damage someone’s self-worth, especially a young Black girl. From that moment, I realized books are more than stories—they are tools for empathy, empowerment, and change. I kept reading—Becoming, Born a Crime, Between the World and Me—and each one taught me something new about identity, resilience, and the systems we live under. As a first-generation student and daughter of immigrants, I know what it feels like to walk into a room and already be underestimated. I’ve seen my parents work double shifts just to keep the lights on. Education has always been seen as the key in our household, but college still feels like a door with too many locks. Despite the challenges, I plan to pursue a degree in economics so I can uplift underserved communities, like the one I grew up in, by creating financial literacy programs and helping families build generational wealth. One of my most valuable learning experiences came while volunteering at a local dog shelter. I signed up to walk dogs once a week, thinking it would be simple. But I quickly learned how overwhelmed the shelter staff were, how underfunded the organization was, and how much emotional care the animals needed. Some dogs were skittish, others aggressive from past trauma. I failed the first time I tried walking two dogs at once—one slipped his harness and ran. I was terrified. Thankfully, we got him back safely, but I learned to slow down, to pay attention, and to take responsibility. Over time, I built trust with the animals and even trained new volunteers. That experience taught me patience, consistency, and how showing up—even in small ways—can make a huge difference. Mentorship has also played a powerful role in my life. My middle school English teacher saw my spark for writing before I ever believed in it myself. She encouraged me to submit essays and attend writing workshops. That confidence spilled over into other parts of my life. I now mentor younger students through my school’s peer tutoring program and help them believe in their potential, too. I may not have a perfect resume, but I have a powerful story. I’m a young Black woman who grew up in poverty but is determined to change the narrative—for herself and others. I use my voice to speak up in class, my hands to volunteer at food banks and shelters, and my heart to uplift those around me. Whether it’s organizing community clean-ups or reading to younger kids at the library, I always find ways to give back. Books raised me when the world didn’t know how. They taught me to think critically, love deeply, and fight boldly. I plan to carry that same spirit into every classroom, boardroom, and neighborhood I enter. Because if I’ve learned anything from all the books I’ve read, it’s that even the most unlikely characters can change the world.

Growing up, I was told in subtle and not-so-subtle ways who I was supposed to be. Because I am a Black woman, I’ve been labeled “too loud,” “too aggressive,” or “ghetto”—not because of my actions, but because of the world’s assumptions. These labels are often placed on us before we even get the chance to speak for ourselves. The truth is, society tries to write our stories before we’ve had a chance to hold the pen. But I am reclaiming that pen. The social issue I am passionate about addressing is the dehumanization and underestimation of Black women. We are often viewed as less than—loud but not heard, present but not seen, intelligent but not credited. These stereotypes don’t just hurt our confidence—they actively block access to opportunities, respect, and fair treatment in education, careers, and healthcare. They make it harder for Black girls to imagine themselves as CEOs, scientists, professors, or economists. I know because I’ve had to push back against that limited vision of who I could be. I plan to major in economics and data science so I can directly tackle the systems that keep Black women at a disadvantage. Economics allows us to look at the structure of inequality—wage gaps, housing discrimination, unequal school funding—and analyze how decisions made in boardrooms and government offices trickle down into everyday struggles. Data science gives me the tools to bring numbers to life, to prove with evidence what many of us already know through experience: that the playing field is far from level. But I’m not just waiting for my degree to make an impact—I’m starting now. In my community, I mentor younger girls who are already being told they’re “too much.” I remind them that being bold, expressive, and ambitious is not a flaw—it’s a superpower. I host peer study groups to create spaces where students feel safe to ask questions and learn without judgment. I volunteer at community events that support Black-owned businesses and teach financial literacy because I know that building economic power is essential to breaking generational cycles of poverty. I also use my voice online, posting and speaking about racial bias, mental health in the Black community, and the importance of representation in STEM and economics. I believe that visibility matters. When we see people who look like us in spaces we’re told we don’t belong, it changes what we believe is possible. A college education won’t fix every problem—but it gives me the knowledge, access, and credibility to sit at tables where decisions are made. It will allow me to uplift others financially, emotionally, and intellectually—to help close the gap created by centuries of exclusion. My goal isn’t just personal success. It’s collective progress. I want to build scholarship funds, mentor programs, and initiatives that target the systemic roots of inequality, not just the symptoms. I want to show the world that Black women are not defined by stereotypes—we are leaders, innovators, and change-makers. By earning this scholarship, I’ll take another step toward a future where being a Black woman is not a barrier—but a badge of brilliance. I will continue to challenge the narratives that try to diminish us and replace them with one of power, purpose, and possibility. We are not “too much.” We are exactly enough. And we’re just getting started.

My journey with mental health didn’t begin with a diagnosis or a specific event. It began with a quiet, sinking feeling that something inside me didn’t match the face I showed the world. I was high-achieving, dependable, always smiling—but beneath that, I wrestled with anxiety, perfectionism, and the constant fear that I was never enough. Like many in my community, I was taught to push through. To be strong. To be silent. Emotions weren’t meant to be discussed—they were meant to be controlled. And so, I buried them. I studied harder. I performed better. But inside, I was unraveling. Things changed when someone close to me—someone I deeply admired—opened up about their own mental health struggles. Their honesty gave me the permission I hadn’t given myself. I started to talk. To journal. To learn. I realized that mental health wasn’t a weakness to hide, but a vital part of our overall well-being—and something that deserves care, compassion, and serious attention. This shift in understanding didn’t just change how I viewed myself; it changed how I saw the world. I began noticing how often mental health goes unacknowledged in the systems around us: in schools, workplaces, and even data. That realization helped shape the path I want to pursue—economics and data science. To me, these fields are not just about numbers or theory—they’re about people. They’re about uncovering the invisible forces shaping our lives. I want to use data to tell stories that too often go untold: stories about mental health disparities in underserved communities, about the economic impact of untreated trauma, about what happens when we design systems that prioritize productivity over people’s well-being. My experiences have taught me to see behind the statistics. Every percentage point represents a real person—someone’s parent, child, or friend. I want to use data to make those stories visible, to influence policy, and to support change rooted in compassion as well as evidence. Mental health has shaped my relationships by teaching me the value of empathy and active listening. It’s shaped my goals by showing me how personal struggles can evolve into public purpose. And it’s shaped my understanding of the world by revealing how deeply interconnected our minds, communities, and systems really are. In memory of those who’ve suffered in silence—including those we’ve lost—I am committed to shining light where there’s darkness. And in honor of my own growth, I aim to use my voice, my education, and my data to create a future where mental health is seen, supported, and never ignored.

A Lesson from My Abuela: Strength, Sacrifice, and First-Generation Dreams One moment with my abuela forever changed how I see myself and my future. It was a late summer afternoon, and the sun was beginning to dip behind the buildings of our New York neighborhood. I was struggling with a particularly hard math problem, feeling overwhelmed and defeated. My abuela, who barely speaks English but has a heart full of wisdom, sat beside me quietly. After a few minutes, she took my hand in hers, looked me in the eye, and said in Spanish, “Nunca olvides de dónde vienes, pero tampoco de hacia dónde vas.” “Never forget where you come from, but don’t forget where you’re going.” That simple phrase has stayed with me. It reminded me that my struggles are not just my own—they are the legacy of generations before me who sacrificed so much for a better life. My abuela left her home country with nothing but hope, raising her children in a foreign land, working long hours, and enduring hardships so that I could one day have opportunities she never did. She is significant in my life because she embodies strength and resilience. Growing up as a first-generation Hispanic student in New York, I’ve witnessed firsthand the sacrifices my family has made. My parents, like my abuela, are immigrants who have juggled multiple jobs to provide for me, often with limited English and few resources. Education was not always accessible or emphasized in our community, but my family made sure I understood its importance. Being the first in my family to pursue college, I feel the weight of their dreams and the responsibility to succeed—not just for myself, but for all of us. Navigating high school without a roadmap has been challenging. I’ve had to figure out college applications, financial aid, and career options on my own, often turning to teachers, counselors, or the internet for guidance. I’ve balanced academic rigor with part-time work to support my family, and at times, the pressure has been overwhelming. But every time I feel discouraged, I remember my abuela’s words and the countless sacrifices that brought me here. That moment with her also sparked my ambition to pursue actuarial science. I’ve always been passionate about math and problem-solving, but now I see my future career as a way to create real impact. Actuaries analyze risk and help build financial security, and I want to ensure that marginalized communities like mine are included in those calculations—so that insurance, healthcare, and financial products are fair and accessible for everyone. My family’s story, my abuela’s resilience, and my own journey as a first-generation student fuel my drive. I want to break cycles of poverty and open doors for younger generations. I also plan to mentor other students who come from backgrounds like mine, helping them navigate the college process and see their potential. Being a first-generation student means carrying the hopes of those who came before me while forging a new path forward. It means working twice as hard to make sure their sacrifices weren’t in vain. My abuela’s faith in me is a daily reminder that I am not alone, and that my future is a bridge between the past and the possibilities ahead. This scholarship would be a crucial step in supporting that journey—helping me focus on my studies and giving me the confidence to keep pushing toward my goals. In honoring Jesus Baez-Santos’ memory, I hope to honor my family’s legacy too: by turning obstacles into opportunities and making a difference with everything I do.

Turning Struggles Into Strength: My Journey as a First-Generation Scholar When I was a child, success seemed like a distant dream—something reserved for people with privilege, connections, and a clear path forward. Growing up in a Hispanic household in New York, I watched my parents work endlessly, not for luxury, but for survival. They carried the weight of sacrifice on their shoulders so that I could carry hope on mine. I am proud to say that I am the first in my family to attend college, and I carry that responsibility with purpose, passion, and pride. As a student at Brewster High School, I’ve done more than just survive—I’ve thrived. Despite the challenges of navigating school with little guidance at home, I have maintained a 3.9 GPA, earned a spot on the High Honor Roll every year, and received the Academic Excellence Award for my dedication and performance. I was also accepted into the Castle Scholars program, a recognition I never imagined I would receive when I first stepped into high school, unsure of what the future held. These accomplishments are not just mine—they are milestones for my entire family. The path to college hasn’t been easy. As a first-generation student, I’ve had to become my own mentor, advocate, and guide. I’ve had to balance schoolwork with responsibilities at home, all while trying to imagine a future I had never seen anyone in my family reach. But those very challenges have given me the resilience and determination to aim even higher. I’ve learned that when doors aren’t open for you, sometimes you have to build your own. That’s what led me to actuarial science—a field I discovered through my love for math and logic. At first, it was just a curiosity. But the more I learned, the more I saw how actuaries shape real-world decisions—how they use data to design insurance systems, calculate risk, and ensure financial security. For me, it’s not just about numbers—it’s about using those numbers to build a more just and equitable world. In my career, I plan to challenge the way risk is assessed in underserved communities like mine. I want to work toward insurance policies that don’t penalize people for circumstances beyond their control. I want to bring diversity into boardrooms where it’s desperately needed, to ensure that people from all backgrounds—especially those from low-income and minority communities—are seen, considered, and protected. I also want to give back through mentorship. I know what it feels like to walk into a room and feel like you don’t belong. I want to create spaces where young Hispanic and first-generation students feel empowered to dream big and pursue careers in finance, STEM, or anywhere they’ve been told they don’t fit. I want to show them that someone like me—who once felt invisible—can become someone others look up to. This scholarship would lift a financial burden that weighs heavily on my family. It would not only allow me to focus on my education but also serve as a symbol that hard work, perseverance, and community matter. It would tell me that I am seen—not just for where I come from, but for where I am going. I may be the first in my family to attend college, but I promise I won’t be the last. With this opportunity, I will not only rise—I will lift others with me.

From Silence to Strength: Giving Back as a Future LGBTQ+ Leader I didn’t always have the courage to be seen. Growing up in poverty, I learned early how to keep quiet, to take up as little space as possible, and to avoid anything that might draw unwanted attention—especially my identity as a queer person. At Brewster High School, where I often felt like an outsider, the LGBTQ+ community became a lifeline. It was there, in the walls of our GSA (Gender and Sexuality Alliance), that I began to find my voice. At first, I was hesitant to join. Being openly queer in a small community isn’t always easy, and I feared judgment and rejection. But walking into that first GSA meeting changed everything. I was met not with stares, but with smiles. Slowly, I began participating—first by attending meetings, then by speaking up, and eventually by leading projects and discussions. I helped organize school-wide Pride events, ran awareness campaigns, and facilitated conversations on acceptance and allyship. The group became more than a safe space—it was a place where I learned to be proud of who I am. I see myself not just as someone who has benefited from the LGBTQ+ community, but as someone who will continue to give back. As I pursue my goal of becoming an actuary, I want to challenge the idea that math and finance are impersonal fields. Actuaries don’t just crunch numbers—we assess risks, solve real-world problems, and help shape policies that affect people’s lives. I believe that representation matters in every profession, and as a queer person entering a traditionally conservative field, I hope to break barriers for others like me. My long-term goal is to work in insurance or financial services, where I can help design fairer models that account for the unique risks faced by underserved communities, including LGBTQ+ individuals. Whether it’s advocating for equitable access to life insurance or developing data that helps policymakers understand disparities, I want my work to make a tangible difference. I also plan to mentor LGBTQ+ students interested in math, finance, or STEM—fields where our voices are still underrepresented. Receiving this scholarship would be life-changing. As someone who has lived in poverty, every financial resource helps lighten the heavy burden college places on my family. I’ve worked hard to succeed academically despite challenges at home—limited access to resources, unstable housing, and financial stress. A scholarship would give me the breathing room to focus on my studies, seek internships, and fully invest in my future without the constant pressure of making ends meet. More than anything, this scholarship represents hope. It means that who I am—both as a member of the LGBTQ+ community and as a student with big goals—deserves to be supported. It means I can be proud, visible, and ambitious all at once. The LGBTQ+ community helped me find myself. Now, I want to pay that forward—by showing others that success doesn’t require hiding who you are, and that no matter where you start, you can rise, lead, and make a difference.

Creating a Positive Environmental Impact Through Marketing as an Aspiring Actuary As an aspiring actuary, I understand the value of data-driven decision-making and strategic risk management—skills that are increasingly relevant in addressing environmental challenges. Over the next five years, I plan to combine my actuarial knowledge with impactful marketing strategies to promote environmental sustainability both locally and globally. While actuaries are often associated with finance and insurance, the role is evolving to include climate risk modeling and sustainability analysis. Through marketing, I aim to raise awareness about how actuarial work can contribute to a greener future. One of my key goals is to support and promote sustainable finance and insurance products that reward eco-friendly behaviors. For instance, I envision working with insurance companies to design auto or property insurance products that offer incentives for electric vehicle ownership, green home improvements, or disaster-preparedness strategies that reduce environmental impact. Through targeted marketing campaigns, I can help communicate the value of these products to environmentally conscious consumers, increasing adoption and encouraging responsible choices. Furthermore, I want to use marketing to demystify the actuarial profession’s role in environmental sustainability. By creating educational content—such as blogs, infographics, webinars, or social media series—I plan to show how actuaries assess climate-related risks, model natural disasters, and advise companies on long-term environmental impacts. This type of marketing can attract future talent to the field and encourage companies to consult actuarial professionals when making eco-conscious decisions. In the digital space, I will advocate for the responsible use of data and promote environmentally sustainable marketing practices. This includes minimizing the carbon footprint of online advertising, using clean-energy hosting platforms, and supporting transparency in data usage. I also hope to partner with nonprofit organizations and environmental think tanks to build campaigns around the financial risks of climate inaction—highlighting the long-term economic consequences that can result from ignoring environmental issues. Locally, I aim to be involved in community outreach by helping local businesses understand how sustainability can be both a moral and financial asset. I will market green business certifications, help them leverage actuarial data to reduce risks, and support local climate initiatives with strong messaging and clear, data-backed benefits. In summary, by combining the analytical mindset of an actuary with the strategic communication skills of a marketer, I hope to bridge the gap between data and action. My goal is to use marketing to inform, inspire, and empower individuals and businesses to make environmentally sound decisions—rooted in both values and verifiable impact.